From the Editor-in-Chief
It had been the perfect vacation with the family at the Grand Hotel on Mackinac Island, and our return trip started auspiciously enough. Our 13-year-old son’s usual insistence on finding a Chipotle came up empty-handed, so we grabbed some fast food and headed south, my wife at the wheel of her SUV. About an hour out of town we heard what sounded like a cannon blast, followed by very loud banging sounds; a run-flat tire had blown, and the steel cables had become unraveled and were whipping away at the undercarriage as we sped down the highway. Controlling the vehicle with a calm aplomb that we all found impressive, my wife brought us to a safe halt on the shoulder. A few deep breaths later and a quick check to make sure no one was hurt, we got out to take a look at the damage. The right rear quarter panel was gone; the tire was in shreds. There was fluid running everywhere from somewhere underneath. We didn't know at the time that the brake and fuel lines had been severed. We were lucky there hadn’t been any sparks, and even luckier that it hadn’t been a front tire. A Sheboygan County Sheriff’s deputy was on the scene in about 20 minutes; he was kind and a huge help, especially as AAA clearly had bigger fish to fry. He called a flatbed tow truck, which promptly arrived and delivered the SUV to a body shop and us to a Holiday Inn, both in Gaylord, Michigan. While my wife and the kids waited in the truck, I went inside to see if they had a vacancy so late at night. By the greatest of good fortune, the lady at the desk, who was about to give the last room to someone at the other end of the phone, gave it to us instead. So it was with a sense of deep relief that fifteen minutes later I was uncorking a bottle of wine we happened to have brought along, while the kids busied themselves raiding the vending machines for carbs and sugar, all of us grateful that this part of the odyssey, at least, was over. Ever the optimists, we had hoped we could just get a new tire the following morning and make the seven-hour drive back to Indy, where we could also get the car repaired, but that wasn't to be. There was far more damage than we originally thought. The vehicle would have to stay in Gaylord for repairs as it was undriveable. The day was spent trying to find a solution, but there were no rental cars to be had, no public transportation because of Covid, no Uber and the local taxi company wanted almost $1,000 to drive us home. As we faced the prospect of another night in the hotel, my phone unexpectedly rang late in the afternoon. It was a very kind woman we had spoken to at Hertz: she had a cargo van coming back that evening; if we didn’t mind “slumming” it, they could equip it with seats in the back for the kids. We jumped at the chance and hit the road again around 10 pm. Seven hours later, we were back in our own beds, never happier to be home. Over the following weeks, my wife, good sport that she is, drove the cargo van as the repair bills continued to mount. Eventually the SUV was totaled, and she got to drive a loaner until insurance sorted out a new vehicle. Reflecting on the situation, we agreed that it had been a journey of accidents, but most of them happy: the blowout could have been much worse, after all. We were fortunate that the sheriff’s deputy arrived so quickly to help us, that the hotel manager took pity on us late at night, and that the rental car reservation person remembered us and took the time to give us a call. From now on, whenever I hear the name of Gaylord, Michigan, I won’t think so much about the accident that might have taken our lives, but more about the kindness of strangers, and how even the smallest gesture can mean so much to those in need of a bit of help.
Jeffrey Cohen jeff@slmag.net
30 slmag.net
